


The Marriage of Sir Gawain

by trinityofone



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Size Kink, Skinny Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinityofone/pseuds/trinityofone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do you want me?” Steve asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Marriage of Sir Gawain

**Author's Note:**

> I read Brubaker's skinny Steve arc from _Captain America Vol. 6_ and instantly wanted to see it in the MCU and mashed up with "Sir Gawain and the Loathly Lady." Weirdly, as I was sitting on the first draft of this, dirtybinary posted [a fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1889763) inspired by the same Arthurian legend. So, a) ilu fandom and b) hopefully this is different enough; I think it is, as this story is like 99% porn.
> 
> Huge thanks to fiveyearmission for making this better line by line and as a whole!

“How do you want me?” Steve asks.

He’s straddling Bucky’s hips, pinning Bucky to the bed with one strong, muscled arm, big fingers splayed possessively across Bucky’s chest. Bucky could probably flip him if he tried, but he would really, really have to _try_.

Bucky’s lying back against the pillows, staring up at Steve. He’s not going anywhere. He says, “Any way I can have you,” cutting the sap with a sloppy, dirty grin. He strokes a hand up Steve’s thick thigh. “How do _you_ want you?”

Steve takes a deep breath. He’s still pulsing with adrenaline from the fight earlier; there are burn marks still fading to nothing across the broad expanse of his back. Bucky has a cut on his chin that has yet to fully heal. But they’re here, they’re both here, and Bucky’s hands are on his hips, one hot and one cold. Steve shivers a little into both. 

“Want you to take care of me,” Steve says on an exhale. “Can you do that for me, Buck?”

“Anything, anything…”

Steve takes another steadying breath, lets his head fall back. “Hold on,” he says, and Bucky gasps, “Steve,” and then he—

It doesn’t feel like letting go. It did at first: a horrifying loss of control. The first few weeks after Machinesmith had infected him with the nanovirus had been a nightmare, all his old self-doubt and deeply buried feelings of inadequacy boiling up. It was a vicious cycle: the virus responded to his emotions, so if Steve felt weak, it would _make_ him weak. And if he reacted to that with fear and panic, the physical consequences would only get worse. It was only a matter of time before Steve’s shameful secret was exposed: that after all this time he still feared being reduced to what he once was. 

“Because you wanna help people,” Sam had said. “No shame in that.”

Steve would have liked to pretend that was all it was. But if he wanted to beat this, he had to be honest with himself. When he stopped treating the virus like something he had to fight, like a bully he was squaring off against in a back alley: that’s when he finally found himself fit to wear his uniform again. 

(“Literally,” said Natasha with an arched brow.)

So now Steve has it under control. Or rather, as Bruce would say, he’s accepted the fact that control is an illusion. He is what he is— _all_ the things that he is. And on good days, like today, he can choose which parts of himself he wants to display.

So Steve…relaxes. He lets something ease in him, even though his spine is taut like a wire. This part always hurts—though it’s sort of a good hurt, like sore muscles unclenching after a long day. His body jerks as it shifts in Bucky’s strong grip. “I got you, I got you,” he can hear Bucky saying, and Steve laughs as he comes down from it, nerves tingling. Bucky’s sat up, and Steve can feel him running his hands up Steve’s back and onto his shoulders. “That is…a thing to watch, Steve.” Bucky sounds half in awe, half afraid, so Steve has to swat at him lightly with still-shaking fingers.

“Come on, we both know Bruce puts on a much more impressive show.”

Bucky knows him far too well to buy into this deflection. He’s still giving Steve that look. Steve realizes—or allows himself, only now, in retrospect to recognize—that this is the first time he willingly let Bucky see him do it. In the past it had either been out of his control, or something he hid away: leaving the room as one thing and coming back as another. He feels himself start to flush.

Bucky’s eyes find his, blue and deep. Calming. “Well, it’s some parlor trick, Steve,” he says, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. His eyes stay serious even as his lips quirk. “You gonna show me what else you can do?”

“This,” says Steve, accepting the challenge. He tilts his head up to find Bucky’s mouth.

He likes this angle. This is the way he used to look at Bucky, staring up at him with so much suppressed longing. Now, though, he can do more than just look. He nibbles and licks at Bucky’s beautiful full mouth until it opens up. Bucky’s warm and tender as he kisses Steve back, but always with an undercurrent of hunger, this feeling that Steve thinks is in both of them, like they’ll never get enough. Steve squirms atop Bucky’s lap, shifting his legs around so they’re bracketing Bucky’s waist instead of his thighs. He plants himself back down, the curve of his ass against Bucky’s stiff cock.

“Mmm, slow down,” Bucky says.

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t wanna.” Then he laughs, because he knows how he sounds: all traces of the big man who can slowly and patiently take Bucky apart, who is soft and gentle and tends to what Bucky needs when he needs it like that—that’s all gone. Steve, like this: he feels needy and greedy and demanding. He plants his slender arms around Bucky’s neck and grinds down. “I want you. Now.”

But Bucky’s still frustratingly slow in his movements, like Steve is somehow a feast before him, something he wants to savor. He presses a kiss to Steve’s tender throat. “You’re so beautiful. I ever tell you how pretty you are like this?”

“All the frickin’ time.”

Steve grips Bucky’s shoulders. They look massive like this, compared to Steve’s slender palms. Still, when Steve pushes, Bucky goes: flat on his back. His eyes are wide as he stares up at Steve like he’s moonstruck, sunblind. “Gonna keep telling you till you believe me, punk.”

Steve’s breath hitches within his scrawny chest. “I believe you,” he says, and he almost does. “Now take me apart.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You do it,” he says.

Steve slides his hands down Bucky’s muscled torso. “You’re just gonna lie there and make me do all the work?”

Bucky lets his left hand lift off the bed in a lazy arc. “Well, I might be persuaded to help…”

Steve takes the hint. He catches up Bucky’s metal elbow and brings the whole shining, heavy limb up toward his face. He puts the cool fist to his cheek, kisses the metal fingers until they uncurl, then turns his head with parted lips so that the first two digits slide straight into his mouth. Steve knows how delicate and vulnerable he must look beside such a powerful piece of machinery, and he shivers, picturing it—how he looks right now for Bucky, from the outside, as he makes a display of his trust. He licks and sucks over Bucky’s twitching fingers and listens to the aching uptick in his breathing. Eventually he pulls back just enough to pant, “Get the lube.”

Bucky gets it and passes it to Steve. Steve is still working on Bucky’s hand, warming up the fingers inside his mouth and between his own flushed palms. Bucky’s cock is already leaking against Steve’s ass and Steve can almost imagine lifting himself up and sinking right back—he thinks he could take it. But it would be a shame to let all this preparation go to waste. He slicks up Bucky’s spit-soaked fingers and raises his hips. “Come on,” he says.

“God, Steve.” Bucky’s biting his own lip as he cradles Steve’s lean thigh in his human hand and props him up. Steve doesn’t have to worry about his weight; he lets himself fall forward onto Bucky’s chest as Bucky spreads his cheeks with his metal fingers and works the first articulated joint inside. His hand is still a little cold but it sends just the right sort of shivers up Steve’s spine. He pushes himself back, eager and gasping, taking more and more of Bucky inside. His own cock—the smaller, original version—is leaking robustly across Bucky’s belly.

Bucky twists his fingers the way he knows Steve likes and Steve lets out a muffled choke. He feels so pleasantly skewered, tipped forward so that Bucky can kiss him. He moans and wiggles as Bucky’s fingers move. Below him Bucky’s staring at him, wide-eyed. “That good, baby?” he gasps out. “That nice?”

Steve works himself over the ridges of Bucky’s knuckles with a grunt. He feels so full and good—he could easily come like this—but he wants—

“Shut up and put me on your cock,” he says. “Wanna ride you.”

“Yeah?” says Bucky, pausing for a moment after he pulls out to stroke Steve’s back. “Gonna be my little jockey?”

Steve’s sputtering laugh becomes just a sputter as Bucky helps Steve sit back on Bucky’s cock. Nothing feels quite like this, when he convinces himself that he’s fragile enough that Bucky could almost split him in two. Steve settles himself, then gives a little rolling bounce. Bucky’s clutching at his thighs. “Oh, god, Steve—“

“That’s right.” Steve rocks forward again, clenching his muscles. Bucky’s gripping him so good. His eyes are squeezed shut. Steve wants to throw his head back and do the same, but he also wants to see. He wants the weird moment where everything seems to switch, shame shifting to pleasure, even changing into something like pride. The moment where, somehow now, almost in spite of himself, he finds himself liking it. He likes looking down his smooth skinny chest and seeing his slender thighs bracketing Bucky’s strong, golden body; likes feeling Bucky pressed deep inside him and seeing the shell-shocked look on his face as Steve milks his cock with every movement of his rawboned hips. Bucky’s hands are gentle where they hold him but never too gentle and Steve knows that, just like when he’s big and he asks Bucky to bend him over the back of the couch and take him rough, if he asked now Bucky would do it. If he asked Bucky to roll over and take it from Steve’s tiny cock—

“Oh,” Steve says in a gasp, “next time I’m like this I wanna do you. I want you to bend over for me and then when I’m in you—“ He can’t quite say it, the words cutting out of him on a sigh.

But Bucky takes up the gauntlet. On a pant: “You’ll get big for me, is that it, Stevie? Wait till you’re inside of me and then—oh—you’ll blow up so big for me, stretch me out on your big thick cock?”

He takes his left hand off Steve’s hip and curls it around Steve’s prick, which right now is not terribly big and thick, but which is so hard, leaking and pulsing in Bucky’s hand. Bucky strokes him, rough as he likes, and then Steve’s coming, trembling and shaking and losing all mastery over his rhythm. Bucky stays inside him, stroking up and down his back as he shakes and spills. Then he lifts Steve up, careful of his spent, tender cock, and lays him down gently on his side. Bucky runs his fingers down Steve’s slim shoulders, along the edges of his ribs and over his narrow, quaking thighs. He kisses his collarbone and the burn marks that still feel faintly raw, frozen halfway through healing. He licks at the small of Steve’s back and nips across the faint curve of his spare little ass. Then he gently parts Steve’s cheeks and slides his cock back home.

“Ahh,” sighs Steve, and Bucky is equally guttural in his response; they’re somewhere else together, past words. Bucky fucks Steve slowly, swirling a hand across his come-slick belly, lightly stroking the tiny buds of his nipples, kissing the back of his neck. When Steve comes again it feels less like an explosion and more like something gently coaxed out of him. Bucky follows soon after, wrapping his arms tight around Steve, burying his nose against Steve’s throat.

It’s Steve who decides to untangle himself, pad across the floor to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom. He catches his own gaze in the mirror and because it’s still the tougher thing to do, he makes himself look. His old body, his original body, _this_ body, the one he just used: it is small and it doesn’t look strong. But his shoulders as he stands there hold less of the tension they used to, the weight of all those fights so desperately fought and all unwon. Maybe he’s finally vanquished his first enemy—or rather made peace with him. At times an uneasy peace, Steve thinks, staring into those defiant blue eyes, but one he can learn to live with—especially since Bucky, far braver than him in this, has had to do the same and more.

Steve comes back to the bed with the washcloth, hands it to Bucky when he reaches out and lets him run the warm, damp cloth over Steve’s body. Then he gets to do the same to Bucky. Steve wants to take his time, make contact with all of Bucky’s sockets and scars, but Bucky’s nuzzling closer, making soft, sleepy sounds. “I’m clean as I’m gonna get,” he grouses. “Just want you. C’mere.”

Steve starts to settle into Bucky’s embrace before he catches himself. “I should change back.”

Bucky flutters open a single eye and looks at him. “Of course, if you want to,” he says. “But if we go to sleep like this…maybe you can wake me up in the morning by doing that thing you said.”

Steve flushes. “You’d really let me…?”

“Anything,” Bucky says. “Any way you want it.”

Steve slips his slim skin-and-bone fingers through Bucky’s thick metal ones. “Buck…”

Bucky bats away the unasked question with a kiss to the crown of Steve’s head. “I trust you. You’re _you_.”

Steve pulls back and looks at him for a long, slow moment: this version of Bucky that is also not the original one, but the one who’s here, who’s his. Then he lowers himself back against Bucky’s chest, relaxing as he feels his big, strong arms settling around him.

“Any way I want it,” Steve says.

And as always, Bucky answers, “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely [my favorite panel](http://trinityofone.tumblr.com/post/89318048260/steve-rogers-life-motto) from the aforementioned Brubaker arc.


End file.
